Insomnia
by LaughingOwl
Summary: Ryuzaki sat, shoulders tense as he loomed like a vulture over the sleeping body of Light Yagami. His sleepless eyes scanned carefully the hollow of his throat, the sigh of his chest as he breathed, the soft moonlight illuminating the curve of his cheek..
1. First Night

Ryuzaki sat, shoulders tense as he loomed like a vulture over the sleeping body of Light Yagami.  
His sleepless eyes scanned carefully the hollow of his throat, the sigh of his chest as he breathed, the soft moonlight illuminating the curve of his cheek, making it glow, a sliver of blue-white light made softer by fuzz and stubble.

He reached a tentative, long-fingered hand out to brush the spot where the moonlight faded, just to know what it felt like to trail his fingertips over the skin of his death sentence. His heart was pounding, breath shallow and silent as possible to make up for his racing pulse. He was so close now- he could feel the warmth coming off of him, and yet, still he hesitated- snatched his hand back in one silent, fluid movement and turned away, swinging his legs onto his own bunk and folding his feet beneath his knees. He breathed in and out slowly, trying to calm the pounding in his chest, the strange euphoria flooding his mind.

The soft, slim, razor intelligent being he had come so close to touching was nothing less than a murderer. L was sure of his guilt, almost beyond a shadow of a doubt, and yet, he had no hard evidence. That, and... Light's eyes, once so calculating, they had changed. Something had changed, something psychological, he was sure of that. The threat seemed minimized, and danger in those eyes gone and replaced with... innocence?

Was that really why the detective now dared to come within inches, within tiny increments of touching him? Or was it seduction of a death threat? Certainly, he had come close to dying before. It was natural that he would, given his position. But he had never slept beside his death, never had the opportunity to know what it was to feel some strange affinity or kinship with the assassin. Perhaps that was his ticket to emotion, as it were, the sort of person he could really understand and feel some sort of empathy towards. Ironic. He leaned over and flopped artlessly down on his mattress, unfolding his legs from beneath him, chin hanging over the edge of the bed. He would not sleep tonight, though there was nothing unusual about that. He did not sleep often, could count on his fingers the number of hours he'd acquired since being handcuffed to Light.

But now he was restless, unable to lull his mind into a dreamlike, peaceful state, unable to think over the entire Kira case again and consider perps and timelines and other safe thoughts. Instead, he stood and paced quietly around the foot of his roommate's bed, tilting his head to observe the boy's expression. Serene, blank, childlike. His hair was rumpled, falling over the delicate curve of his eyelids, the feathery fringe of red-brown eyelashes that rested on his cheekbones.  
Sleep was vulnerable state, incredibly so. Ryuzaki wondered for a moment if he himself looked so gentle when he dozed off, but comparing his own features- messy hair, harsh lines beneath his eyes, his pale skin contrasting sharply with the darkness- perhaps it was a trait unique to Light himself.

L had never wanted to touch someone before. He was too unaware of himself, perhaps, caught up in his work completely until it was all he had left, and that was not a negative. He was not emotional, as a rule. Misa entertained him, and the way she'd kissed him ever so gently and surprised him like that had made him nervous and fascinated for a short time. These feelings had little effect on his behavior towards her, and he had disregarded them as unimportant. But looking at the sleeping Light, he was reminded of the situation. Mello hugged him, sometimes, when he could visit... Near was too much like himself, and L respected him for it. But Mello was only a child. This was a different sort of thing entirely, he knew.

He was not naive. Holding hands, kissing, the act of sex... he knew what they were, how they were done, and... little about how they felt.  
But why bother? He could not, did not need to be with someone else in order to feel self-assured, as so many people seemed to. He was content in his own existence, or so he had supposed. Light was different, though. He was almost as intelligent as Ryuzaki himself, and he knew how to use that intelligence to his advantage. His physical state, slim, strong, smooth... was of no consequence to the detective whatsoever. He had met his match, his personal reaper, and he was simply curious about why someone so murderous and confusing could snuffle like an infant while he was unconscious, how anyone like that could have such eyes.

**( I'm trying my best to write this from L's point of view convincingly! I think it's hard to write this character into any sort of romantic situation, but I do try. Reviews are half the reason I write, and the only reason I publish, so please let me know what you thought. 3 - Laughing Owl )**


	2. Second Night

Again, he found himself transfixed and on edge, his huge and owlish eyes ever-wider as they took in every pulse, every long, shallow breath as it inflated and sunk from his strange bedfellow's chest.  
He wasn't sure if this made him even stranger than he already was, but he knew it was of little consequence. What did it matter? The concept of being strange was a useless one. All that really mattered was intelligence, and he was certainly not lacking in that area. For now, he let himself watch.

The transformation was as startling as the night before. In sleep, Light went from a severe, formidable individual and a possibly avdersary to a bewitchingly crimeless stranger. His hair was more disheveled tonight, and in sleep he had rolled, curling the blankets around him and exposing his right shoulder to the detective's scrutiny. Seduced by the chance to see a part of him that he had never seen- Light insisted on closing the door on the chain, even when it was only to change clothing, and Ryuzaki had no reason to object- he remained careful not to wake him.

Outside, it was raining. Pale light infiltrated the room through the large windows, but it did not create the dramatic glow of last night, only dark shadows and hazy shapes. But L was used to the dark- he lived and breathed it, spent hours in it's company. If he had been aware of the need for reassurance, the night would have been that for him, but as it was it remained only a good friend who hid his only weakness from the world and gave him time to be without his own, sometimes spiteful, conscience.

He tore his thirsty gaze away and watched the rain poor down, shoving his itching hands in his pockets. L was reasonable. The marbled light diffused itself on Light's skin and made him into something worth the risk that proximity offered, but it did not make Ryuzaki into someone he was not, dazed enough to reach out and with the shaking, whorled pads of his elongated fingers brush that skin, no.

But he wanted to.

He ran his fingers over the clouded, moisture-dripping window instead. He gazed pointedly outwards and, carefully controlling his impulse, sighed. His death lay angellic beside him, and he could only just bear to watch his breath fog on the window and run his fingers through his own thick, dark hair- he was finicky, now more than usual. One might go so far as to save L was unnerved. He traced the patterns underneath his pale reflection's eyes, the thick, dark lines that gave his expression it's own unique intensity- what was it Mello had called him as he hung onto his legs for dear life, desperate that he shouldn't leave so soon after he'd arrived? Stupid panda, he'd said. Looking at Mello was, in many ways, like looking at mirror image of himself, yet had never yearned for anyone's affection, or approval, the way he knew that Mello yearned for his. Children were supposed to be that way, but not L. Not Near, either, though Near was something different, someone L could not connect with. Two strange, silent people lost in their own world were an impossible prospect for friendship.

They were on his mind often, far more often than he had expected. When he was done thinking of the investigation, he thought of them, compulsively.  
The killings continued, but Light slept on beside him, and he was beginning to feel apprehensive about that. His instincts- instincts he had honed for years and prided himself on- could not be incorrect, and yet there was no way he could be right, this time. Light was not Kira, could not be. Perhaps it was, after all, only his capacity for deadliness, not the threat itself, that drew the raven-haired detective to him like a suicidal, drunken moth to it's flame.

Only the second night, but this addiction grew in L already, something so forbidden and so tentative that it was not yet strong enough to expose to the light and let reality wreak it's havoc upon.

This equilibrium was reserved for the witching hours, where he could star with selfish eyes and be held accountable to nobody, especially the only person who was really dangerous enough to eradicate the man with the keenest intellect, the least emotional baggage, the sharpest mind of all; The greatest detective in the world knew of only one individual who was capable enough to murder L- himself.

_Hey, reader! Glad you're still with me, and sorry for the wait! I know it hasn't progressed much, but I'll give it to you straight: I'm not the kind of writer who enjoys writing fireworks. I like to get inside a character's head and quite literally just make them think. But things will change, slowly. Remember: It's only the second night! -Owl_


	3. Third Night

_Fair warning! This chapter is full of the sexytimes. You have been, eh, warned. - Owl_

The nightly watch was becoming either a habit or a problem, L had not yet decided which… too many factors to consider. All he knew for certain was that he liked it, and that it was odd behavior even for the King of the Land of the Strange and Unfamiliar himself. He didn't feel, oh, guilty, persay- another useless emotion- but he felt… disjointed. There was an ache in his chest, a space that needed filling. Some people, he knew, might fill such a space with money, or love, or the approval of one's peers. He filled it with voyeurism and candy.

On this night, he did not pace or skulk. He had decided to stop. It was too risky, so though he knew he could contain himself and he would only look, not touch, of course… he chose to remain where he lay, smothered by the thick blanket, only his eyes and manic tumble of hair visible from beneath his bedcovers. He watched from there, hearing his own heartbeat pound in his ears. Every time Light stirred, he felt his pulse quicken, adrenaline shooting through his veins… at this point, he mused, he may as well have been high. If he were not careful, he might get lost in this sensation. Always keep your distance, that was his first rule, and oh, it was the worst one of all.

They'd spoken, today- well, they always did, but this time, it had been different. The banter that had gone between them had felt charged, as if the pair of handcuffs linking the two were electrified and buzzing on their wrists and in L's chest and… farther down. He didn't recall the words said, only the wicked curve of Light's lips and the way he fiddled absentmindedly with his cuff, pulling it against the soft skin of his wrist as he lectured, leaving little indents as it dug in and was released… now, beneath the cover of darkness, he let himself flush and shiver, reliving, erasing Misa-Misa's ill-timed entrance and rewriting the encounter with an encounter of his own making. Light leaning in, closer, whispering in his ear… he runs a pale white hand through his hair and tugs, hard, and, suddenly…

Only now it was too late to tame his subconscious wanderings, because his jeans were suddenly too, too tight, and he gasped with surprise as he slid a hand inside. Hard as hell, and getting harder as he realized Light was still asleep and he could watch him, watch him as he- he stroked the underside of his shaft, slowly drawing his fingers over the tip, a low moan- quiet, a whisper- escaping unbidden from his wetted lips. He saw that smirk in his mind's eye, only closer, pressing heavily against him, and he was lost, imagining that sharp tongue slipping against his length, caressing and drawing him out and in, and again and again until- god. He bit his tongue and whimpered, shuddering as he bucked once, twice, and felt that release overwhelm him, gasping for air and struggling to remain quiet. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Light shift and turn in his sleep. Another hasty spasm rocked him, daring him to cry out. He bit his tongue again and tasted blood, but he was flushed and panting, overcome and drained.

It was too much to analyze, too much to weigh and measure and justify. He lay there, almost uncomprehending, aware of the line he'd crosses but distinctly unable to cross coyly back and pretend to himself that he hadn't just… that he didn't feel… his mind was surprisingly foggy. He felt himself slipping, and let his mind be drowned in rare and, in this case, fitful rest.


End file.
